


Didn't Know That I Was Dangerous

by SaunterVaguely



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Alpha Wrench, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Aussie, M/M, Omega Numbers, caring Wrench, cranky Numbers, some mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:12:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaunterVaguely/pseuds/SaunterVaguely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd been paired as a joke, originally. The asshats in Fargo thought it was some kind of crackup, a huge, deaf Alpha and the snarky, wildcard Omega that acted above his status.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Didn't Know That I Was Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a oneshot scribble that I cranked out real fast; my apologies to the entire fandom.

They’d been paired as a joke, originally. The asshats in Fargo thought it was some kind of crackup, a huge, deaf Alpha and the snarky, wildcard Omega that acted above his status. There was a betting pool for how long it would take for one of them to kill the other (Jergen won in the end, oddly enough). 

Numbers didn't know what, exactly, they thought was going to happen when he went into heat- he was about 95% certain that the higher-ups were hoping Wrench would act like a typical Alpha and fuck the unruly Omega into submission. Unluckily for them (or, depending on how you looked at it, extremely lucky- if that had happened Numbers would have worked his way through the lot of them with an uzi), Wrench was anything but typical. When Numbers had forgotten his suppression meds on the job (they were in Georgia, which was already a bad place to be for any Omega, especially one that refuses to buy into shitty stereotypes), and the smell of him started turning heads as they walked down the street, Wrench had all but thrown the smaller man back into the car in his haste to get them back to the motel. Numbers had tried to protest, in his still-shaky ASL, fear making him fumble over the signs in spite of himself. Instead of pinning him down and mounting him, though, the big Alpha had shooed him into their room, signed that he should lock the door, and stepped outside, leaving Numbers mystified.

Two hours later, Wrench had returned and knocked, carrying an armload of fast food and three different types of suppression medications. Numbers had opened the door but left the chain on warily, watched his partner’s pupils dialate as the scent hit him and thought frantically  _Shit, shit, that chain won’t hold if he tries to break down the door_  and then blinked in amazement when the bigger man closed his eyes, shuddered once, and handed over the food and meds before backing away, hands held up to say _It’s okay. Be back later. Stay safe_. 

After, when the meds had kicked in and they’d hunted down their target and clipped off his toes until he told them what they needed to know, then shot him in the back of the head and dumped him in the Okefenokee, Numbers hesitantly swiped a hand from his mouth, out and down:  _Thank you_. 

Wrench glanced at him as he pulled the car keys out of his pocket.  _Whatever_ , he waved.  _Be more careful next time_.

Numbers nodded.  _I mean thanks for not taking A-D-V-A-N-T-A-G-E_. 

Wrench paused to show him the sign for the word, tapping his palm with the middle finger of his other hand and pulling it away.  _Bad guy_ , he explained, gesturing at himself, _But not that bad_. He grinned, inviting the other man to join in the joke. Numbers was still- not bothered, but unsettled.

_They wouldn’t have been mad at you_ , he said,  _if you had. Would probably laugh. Big joke_ , he added, looking down at his hands instead of at his partner. _Maybe even get a promotion, better partner_. He did look up when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and saw that Wrench’s face was drawn down in a stern glower. 

_We work together. You learned signing_ , he said, expression solemn.  _I don’t want another partner. We work_. He turned the sign for  _work_  into  _cooperate_ , linking two fingers together. After a beat he added,  _Been a joke enough times myself._  

Numbers was staring by that point, mouth open, and Wrench hissed a little laugh and reached up to close it. _Remember meds next time_ , he advised.  _Could complicate jobs if everyone is trying to hump you_.

Numbers laughed and flipped him off, and Wrench nudged his shoulder and grinned and then they got in the car and drove off.

 

It didn’t really come up again until a few months later, at the tail end of a job in Indiana. They’d just dumped the body of a heavily-indebted businessman into a pig pen, and were putting some miles between themselves and the evidence before they stopped for the night. When they finally did stop at a roadside motel, Numbers waited until they’d each collapsed onto a bed before signing,  _Feeling cranky today?_

Wrench squinted in confusion. 

_The guy_ , Numbers gestured, making an exaggerated ‘dead’ face.  _You went pretty crazy on him._  

Wrench shrugged.  _Didn’t like him_.

_Why not?_   _He didn’t do anything to you_. Numbers raised a brow.  _Just didn’t like the look of him?_

The taller man raised his head from the mattress and looked at his partner.  _You know I can read lips, right?_

Numbers started to ask what that had to do with anything, but stopped suddenly, recalling the last thing the target had said before Wrench had gone bananas. It had started with the usual ranting, pleading and protestations of innocence, but had suddenly turned more specific- specifically directed at Numbers: Omega-Jew-faggot, the typical asshole trifecta, nothing Numbers hadn’t dealt with before, but apparently more than enough to piss Wrench off, if the mangled state of their victim was anything to go by.

Numbers stood suddenly, pulling on his coat and announcing that he was going out to grab dinner.  _Sandwiches okay?_

Wrench nodded slowly, looking vaguely guilty. _Meatball sub._

_Sure._

He came back an hour later with three sandwiches (knowing full well that Wrench could and would eat two given the opportunity) and a box of condoms. He waited until after they’d eaten and were comfortably lounging around with an episode of the X-Files on in the background to pull out the box, open it and toss one at the Alpha. Wrench caught it and looked very confused until Numbers stood up and climbed into his lap.

 

Numbers moaned when he lowered himself down onto Wrench, that heat at his core demanding that he move, move, move _now_. He wrapped an arm around Wrench’s shoulders, bent his head and Wrench was already there, kissing him hard and urgent, breath against his cheek as their bodies started to rock together. Wrench was huge and strong and clearly trying to be gentle, and when Numbers leaned in and bit his neck he let out a hoarse, frantic sound and flipped them, hips working in sharp, jerky motions and then slow rolls that drove Numbers crazy. They kissed again, again, wet and deep and filthy, and Numbers took hold of Wrench’s hand, tugged it against his own chest and rubbed it there in a desperate ‘ _please_ ,  _please_ ' until the bigger man relented: he grabbed one of Numbers' legs and lifted it, getting deeper and grinding while Numbers writhed. With his other hand he reached down, raked his fingers through the dark hair on Numbers' chest and belly, grabbed his cock and pumped until Numbers came all over the both of them. Wrench made a breathy gasp that turned into a deep groan, shuddering all over as he finished. 

They lay in a pile for a little bit, Wrench’s back tensing occasionally as he rocked in and out gently, enjoying the way Numbers’ eyelids fluttered and his toes curled. Finally he pulled out, peeled off the condom and tossed it in the trash before laying back down half on top of his partner and lovingly tracing his fingers through the wet mess of Numbers’ chest hair.

Numbers tolerated this for a few minutes before swatting the hand away, lazily signing,  _That’s_ _gross_.  _Towel_?

Wrench nodded and rolled off the bed, coming back with a washcloth and wiping them both down. He chucked the towel into the tub and stood, naked except for his socks, at the foot of the bed, sporting the endearingly juxtaposed look of huge and imposing combined with uncertain and hopeful. Numbers rolled his eyes and flopped an arm out, inviting, and Wrench clambered back onto the mattress and wrapped himself around the smaller man with obvious delight, nuzzling his neck and breathing deep and contented.

 

They were greeted mostly by silence when they walked into the office in Fargo two days later. Numbers had no doubt that they reeked of each other by then; after that first night they'd been all over one another at every opportunity and no amount of scrubbing in tiny motel showers was going to remove Wrench's scent from him, or his from Wrench. He didn't care, or at least didn't care enough to acknowledge the snickers and stares they got as they moved down the hallway.

Thankfully, no one said anything directly or tried to approach them- probably due in part to the way Wrench was walking a half-step behind Numbers and glaring at everyone and everything like he was daring them to start something.

Suddenly, from down the hall came a loud, echoing whoop of joy that startled several gawkers into turning. Numbers turned toward the sound, Wrench copying him with a quizzical expression, in time to see the Australian come barreling toward them with a maniacal grin on his face. He skidded to a halt a few feet away (at least he had enough self-preservation left to know better than to actually touch either of them).

"I knew it!" He cackled, addressing everyone in the vicinity. "You owe me twenty dollars! And you owe me twenty dollars! Everyone here owes me twenty dollars!" He practically sang the last line, waving his arms like a demented Oprah.

Oddly enough, the Aussie's over-the-top reaction seemed to disperse some of the tension; a few people chuckled and handed over their money, some rolled their eyes and wandered away, and soon the crowd had scattered enough that Wrench and Numbers could slip by without a comment. They dropped off their report and picked up their payment, then went out the back door to avoid another encounter with the Australian, who could still be heard loudly declaring that they all needed to go out and get drunk in celebration.

_You good?_ Wrench asked his partner as they made their way from the building towards their car.

Numbers rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out of his skull, and Wrench hissed a laugh, holding up his hands to prevent the rant that was about to be thrown his way. _Sorry, sorry. Just checking_. He looked up and glanced around, then offered, _Dinner? We could go someplace nice; we just got paid_.

Numbers cocked his head to one side, considering, his thick brows pinched together dubiously. He glanced up at Wrench and saw the man's anxious, earnest squint, big green eyes imploring, and sighed. _Yeah, alright. Sushi?_

Wrench nodded slowly, but he was still frowning as he signed, _Fish roe not kosher_ , hand spread over his mouth, down and back up with pinched fingers.

Numbers was torn between exasperation and endearment at the fact that his partner had taken the time to look that up, so he settled for a shrug and head shake. _Don't worry about it_. He opened the passenger side door and slid into the seat. _Hurry up, I'm hungry_.

The big hitman nodded and hurried to clamber into the driver's side, leaning in to kiss Numbers' cheek before starting the car.

"Yeah, yeah, you big sap," Numbers muttered, stifling a grin as they drove off.


End file.
